The Clothes Make the Man
by CrystalMoon
Summary: When John goes shopping, it turns into a fashion disaster of epic proportions.


The Clothes Make the Man  
  
By CrystalMoon  
  
Spoilers: Post-Bad Timing story  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: And innocent shopping trip turns into a fashion disaster.  
  
"Well, what do you think?" John held his arms out at his sides. The new shirt was black like his old one but it had long sleeves and red trim around the collar.  
  
D'Argo was busy looking at a wide gold belt. When he held it up to the light, it sparkled and shimmered like a disco ball.  
  
"D'Argo, you're gonna blind us with that thing," John said. "How do you like my shirt?"  
  
D'Argo scowled in annoyance and finally glanced at John. "Just pick something out and let's go."  
  
"I did that last time, and you said it didn't suit my body. Those were your words." Then he muttered, "Of course you waited until I'd worn it for half a cycle before telling me."  
  
"All right. Turn around."  
  
John spun slowly in a circle. "Well?"  
  
"I thought you wanted something different."  
  
"I do. This one has long sleeves. It's black AND red." He pointed helpfully to the collar.  
  
D'Argo rolled his eyes. "Fine, then pay for the frelling thing, so we can get out of here."  
  
John sighed. "What?"  
  
"What what?" D'Argo had set the gold belt on a table and was now examining a deep red one made of scaly material.  
  
"What's wrong with it?"  
  
"It looks too much like your other shirts," he said, without looking up. "If you really want to wear something different, then you are going to have to keep looking. Try another color. Not green or black."  
  
John glanced in the mirror. The shirt was very similar to his myriad of black tees, he had to admit, maybe too similar. The idea was to get something different. Aeryn had been wearing his tees for maternity shirts, and the idea of them both wearing matching shirts just made him shudder. The last thing he wanted to be was one of those couples who dressed alike. Plus, she was stretching them out. He didn't begrudge her his larger shirts while she was pregnant. He just wanted a couple of shirts all his own, especially ones that still fit.   
  
"Perhaps, I can be of some assistance," said the shopkeeper, an alien so thin he looked like he was made of wire. Blue, stretchy wire like pipe cleaners, complete with the requisite coating of fuzz. John watched in fascination as the man brought his arms together, bending them in perfect half circles like a Gumby doll. "My name is Meeklos," he said. Then he squeezed John's arms with his too-long, skinny fingers, poking and prodding from John's wrists to his shoulders.   
  
"Uhm, that's okay. I can, hey, ow, that hurts, what are you doing?" John tried squirming away from the fingers, but it was impossible to avoid them. Meeklos moved on to his chest, waist, hips, legs, and inseam, with John trying to wiggle away the whole time. "Whoa, okaaay. I don't know what you're doing, but I think –"  
  
Finally, he stopped. "You are a size hexa," Meeklos said, nodding in satisfaction. "Come with me."  
  
John glanced at D'Argo who wasn't even trying to hide his smirk. As D'Argo started to follow, Meeklos shooed him back, pointing to a bench near a floor-to-ceiling mirror in the back of the store. D'Argo sprawled on the bench while a very pretty but equally wiry woman brought him a chilled beverage. She was pink.  
  
John made sure to shoot D'Argo a dirty look, but D'Argo just kept staring at the pink chick and her incredibly flexible body. The next thing he knew, Meeklos had loaded John's arms with garments and corralled him into a fitting room. Meeklos then grabbed all the clothes from John, set them carefully on a shelf, and began pulling up John's shirt.  
  
John slapped Meeklos's fingers. "I can do this, you know. I get dressed every day by myself."  
  
But Meeklos wouldn't listen. "You will damage the material. It is my job. Do not insult me." He deftly pulled John's shirt over his head and folded it in one smooth move. After setting the shirt on an unused shelf, he pushed John into a chair, untied and removed his boots. John continued to protest loudly. "Hey, Gumby, I said I could, ouch, watch what yer doin' – ooh, hey, that's my ankle. It's supposed to be like that."  
  
John'd had enough. He jumped up and tried to grab his boots and shirt, but Meeklos was like an octopus. No matter which direction John turned, the guy managed to be there ahead of him. When Meeklos reached for the snap on John's pants, John pulled out Winona and pointed it at Meeklos's head. "No one touches my pants except me. And Aeryn. Me and Aeryn, that's all."  
  
Meeklos "tsked" a couple of times and pushed Winona to the side with one long forefinger, completely unperturbed.   
  
"I'm not kidding," said John. "I'm serious. I'll shoot you if you don't …"  
  
The next thing John knew, his holster was unbuckled and his pants were around his ankles. "Step out, please," said Meeklos.   
  
John did as he was told, but he refused to relinquish Winona. A moment later, he stood in the middle of the fitting room in nothing but his underwear and socks, holding a pulse pistol and feeling about 10 years old. He kept having flashbacks of doing this same thing with his mother at the Gap's "Back to School" sale, a ritual he had enjoyed about as much as he was enjoying this one. As Meeklos stood back, running a finger along his flat fuzzy nose, John kept expecting him to ask if he wanted cords or jeans and which color flannel shirt he preferred.  
  
"Which species are you?" said Meeklos, looking John's body up and down.  
  
John tried not to fidget under his gaze. "Human, why?"  
  
"You are unevenly proportioned and not particularly imposing. Your skin is much too pale. And you bend without any grace."  
  
"Aw, cut it out," John said. "I'll get a big head."  
  
"No, your head is the correct size. Do not enlarge it."  
  
John rubbed a spot between his eyes with the butt of his gun. "Listen, I only want a new shirt, okay?"  
  
But Meeklos selected a pair of royal blue, loose-fitting trousers with a wide sash that tied around his waist, murmuring about the quality of the material and how flattering they would look on John. As he helped John get into them, John didn't even try to fight him. Not that he had any say in the matter, of course. After the pants came a mesh tunic of the same color and a jacket with epaulets. Soft blue shoes completed the outfit.  
  
"You have got to be kidding me," said John. He felt like an Arabian knight.  
  
Meeklos stepped back to survey his handiwork. "The blue suits your eyes. Let us look in the mirror. Perhaps your friend would like to see."   
  
"Oh, I'm SURE he would like to see this. But there is no way I'm going out there in this getup. No way. No frelling way. Uh uh."  
  
A moment later, John stood in front of the mirror, sans Winona. D'Argo almost choked on his drink, and the pretty girl from before had to run across the store, slap him on the back and wipe pink liquid off a tentacle.  
  
"Th-thank you," said D'Argo, twisting his neck to watch her walk away.  
  
John snapped his fingers at D'Argo. "Hey, I'm right here. What do you think?"  
  
D'Argo cleared his throat. "Well, it is certainly different from your other outfit."   
  
Meeklos fussed with the positioning of the epaulets, which John endured while glaring at D'Argo.  
  
"Hey, nice getup," said Chiana.   
  
John whirled around. Chiana had entered the shop and was walking toward them, a package under her arm from her own shopping excursion.  
  
"Don't say a word," said John.  
  
"The blue matches your eyes," said Chiana, "right D'Argo?"  
  
"Uh, yes, it is very attractive."  
  
John pushed Meeklos away. "All right, can we all agree that this is NOT something I should buy?" Then he turned to Chiana. "Please, do not tell me the others are on their way."  
  
"Nah, it's just me." Chiana laughed. "For now." She sprawled on the bench next to D'Argo. The pretty assistant brought her a drink to match D'Argo's. "I like this place," she said, taking a sip.  
  
John rolled his eyes.   
  
"We will try something else," said Meeklos, dragging John back to the fitting room.  
  
The next thing he knew, John was wearing a pair of black, silky pants; a sleeveless black shirt that had holes cut out of it in a random pattern; and calf-high boots. This time, Winona had gotten left behind.   
  
Meeklos pushed him back out into the store before he had a chance to protest.   
  
"I like the holes," said Chiana. She stood up and poked her finger through one at his waist. Her glove was cold from the outside air, so John sucked in his stomach. "Stop that," he said, batting her hand away.   
  
Chiana chuckled, poking his skin through two more holes before giving up. "They should make them bigger, though."  
  
D'Argo, who was busy drooling on the pretty assistant, barely glanced at John. "That's lovely, John. Why don't you try on some more things."  
  
John rolled his eyes. As Meeklos came toward him, John grabbed the guys' wiry arm. "Listen, I'm sure your clothes are very popular and all, but they're just not for me …" John trailed off as Meeklos's eyes grew rounder and rounder and wrinkles creased his forehead. He began twisting his fingers together like they were pretzels, in and out, around and around.   
  
"You don't like my clothes?" said Meeklos. Tears glistened in his eyes.  
  
Oh, god. John rubbed his forehead. "No, no, your clothes are fine. They're just not me."  
  
"Then we will find you ones that are you," said Meeklos, his enthusiasm restored. He smiled, bowed, and grabbed John's arm. "Come."  
  
John sighed and trailed after Meeklos. This time, Meeklos put him in a gray militaristic jacket that went halfway to his knees. It had a high collar, wide, padded shoulders, and gold fasteners at the neck and cuffs. John should've felt regal and princely. The only problem was, there were no pants, just some lace-up sandals.   
  
"Pants would be nice," he tried to tell Meeklos. "Really nice. In fact, in my culture it's kind of mandatory."  
  
Meeklos did his tsking thing again, happily adjusting the laces around John's calves, tightening them until they hurt. When John tried to pull his legs away, Meeklos wrapped his tentacle-like fingers around his ankles and held them in place like shackles. Finally, Meeklos stepped back to survey his work. But instead of his usual happiness, he frowned and tapped his fingers together. Ratta tat tat. Ratta tat tat. "Not right, not right," he said.  
  
"Yes! That's what I've been telling you. I. Need. Pants. I need pants." John watched Meeklos scamper back into the store. "Pants," he yelled out the dressing room door.  
  
As he waited for Meeklos to return, it occurred to him that this would be the ideal time to escape. There was a limit to what a person should endure just to not hurt a salesman's feelings. And he certainly couldn't wait for drool-boy to rescue him. But just as he reached for the buckle on the top of his coat, Meeklos came back carrying the largest hat John had ever seen. It had a brim about two feet wide and came to a point at the top, sort of like the wicked witch's hat, but with gray feathers all the way around the brim and a giant Pilgrim buckle right in the front.  
  
John just sighed and let Meeklos set it on his head. Immediately the hat fell across his eyes.  
  
"Please enlarge your head now," commanded Meeklos.  
  
John pushed up the hat and scowled his fiercest at Meeklos. "You have got to be kidding--okay, you're not kidding. I really can't enlarge my head."  
  
"Pity," said Meeklos, "but all is not lost." He did something to the brim of the hat and it tightened around John's head. "A larger head would be a more pleasing look."  
  
"Yeah, whatever." John reached for the hat, but this time it wouldn't come off no matter how hard he pulled. It appeared to be super-glued on his head. "What did you do?"  
  
"Micro-bonding," said Meeklos, tugging on John's arm and ushering him back into the store. "Necessary for fitting only. If you buy, we will alter the hat. Unless you would prefer to alter your head."  
  
"You know, you have no idea how much I wish I really could alter--"John stopped mid-thought. Rygel and Noranti had joined D'Argo and Chiana near the mirror. "Crap." He turned to head back to the dressing room, but Meeklos was all snake arms, blocking his path as if he had two boa constrictors sticking out of his body.  
  
"Crichton," said Rygel, "what the yotz are you wearing?"  
  
"He's giving us a fashion show," said Chiana, nibbling on some kind of puffy finger food that turned her lips orange.   
  
"What the frell for?"  
  
"I don't know." Chiana turned to John. "How come?"  
  
John just glared at all of them. Then he finally looked at himself in the mirror. It was a joke. A frelling joke. They had all gotten together to make him the laughingstock of the uncharted territories. That had to be it because there was no frelling way he had let this happen to himself. He looked like a cross between a French aristocrat, a Roman soldier, and Milton Berle with his pants pulled down. And damn, that jacket was NOT long enough. He tugged at the bottom of it, but it still barely covered the bottom of his boxers.  
  
"I like it," declared Noranti. She circled John, eyeing him up and down. John grabbed hold of the bottom of his jacket with both hands and held it down as far as it would go. "You look very handsome. It's the perfect outfit for a warrior."  
  
"You know," purred Chiana, "you have nice legs."  
  
John turned to D'Argo for help, but he was busy getting another drink from the pink sales clerk who had somehow managed to turn her body into a perfect "U" shape as she bent to hand D'Argo a glass. "It's wonderful," D'Argo said, his eyes practically falling out of their sockets, not even looking at John. "Aeryn will love it."  
  
John threw his hands up in the air and turned, ready to punch Meeklos in his blue face if he tried to make him try on anything else. But just then, the door to the shop burst open and a very, very pregnant Aeryn Sun came charging into the store, black t-shirt stretched way too tight across her abdomen and a pulse rifle in her hands.   
  
The other two customers in the store, went very still and then tried to sidle behind a rack of clothing. John stood frozen in place, suddenly understanding how deer must feel when they see those headlights barreling down on them.  
  
As if in slow motion, Aeryn glanced around the store until she saw their group in the back. Then she marched toward them, a scowl digging two large gashes into her forehead. First, she took in the crew sitting and standing in a loose semi-circle. Then she saw the bendy sales clerk, Chiana's orange lips, the refreshments, and the mirror on a pedestal. Finally, she looked at John, her scowl changing into a look of complete disbelief in the blink of her gray eyes.   
  
"You are insane," she said, her mouth gaping open. Then she swung around, rifle raised and ready, studying the ceiling and walls of the shop.  
  
"If I may be of assistance," said Meeklos. He took a step toward Aeryn, clutching John's elbow. His whole body shook with fear like a giant guitar string. John kept waiting for it to hum.  
  
"No, thank you," said Aeryn, completely ignoring him, still studying the shop walls.  
  
"Uhm, Aeryn," said John, "I can explain – sort of."  
  
"Later." When she came back to the mirror, she paused to look at her reflection. Then she kept looking at it, tilting her head to the side as if mesmerized. John glanced at D'Argo who had finally managed to tear his eyes from the pink chick long enough to notice John's latest attire and Aeryn's obsession with the mirror. His mouth opened and closed several times and he made a "gahking" sound.  
  
John rolled his eyes and turned back to Aeryn. "Um, honey, are you okay?"  
  
Aeryn raised her rifle to her shoulder, cited along the barrel and blew the mirror to smithereens. Everyone screamed and dove to the ground, hands over their heads as shards of glass rained down. John found himself underneath Meeklos, who was clinging to him like a cobweb, both arms and legs wrapped completely around him.  
  
"She's gone mad," said Rygel, whirring his throne sled as far as it would go from Aeryn without leaving the shop.  
  
As John climbed to his feet, Meeklos continued to cling as if he were another article of clothing. His arms crossed in front of John's torso, his fingers digging into his ribs while his legs wrapped around each of John's legs – several times.  
  
John pried at Meeklos's fingers, but they weren't going anywhere. "Aeryn," he said, staggering toward her, still carrying Meeklos. "Are you out of your mind?"  
  
Aeryn rested the rifle on her shoulder and brushed glass off the front of her/his t-shirt. She nodded in satisfaction toward where the mirror used to be. In its place stood the smoldering remains of some equipment that John couldn't figure out. "They've been broadcasting images of you all over the planet," she said. "A sort of celebrity endorsement by the 'famous John Crichton.'" Her face screwed up in distaste at the last part.  
  
John looked closer at the equipment that had been behind the mirror. "Are you telling me that they've been filming me wearing these stupid outfits and putting pictures of me on billboards?"  
  
"On the sides of buildings, actually," said Aeryn. She reached over and gave Chi a hand up, helping her pick glass from her hair.  
  
John tried to reach around his back for Meeklos's neck. He was going to throttle the slippery bastard even if it meant he'd never get his pants back again. But Meeklos lived up to his reputation, weaving and ducking from John's hands while still clinging to his back. "Someone help me kill this guy," he shouted.  
  
"I will get him," said D'Argo. But when he tried to pull Meeklos from John, he ended up lifting both of them off the ground.   
  
"Ow, ow, ow," said John as Meeklos's fingers dug deeper into his ribs. "Let go, let go."  
  
D'Argo dropped them both with a thud. Then Aeryn approached. John heard the click of her pulse rifle being charged. "Release him now or I will blow your head off," she said in that quiet voice that meant she was deadly serious. God, John loved that voice.  
  
Meeklos yelped and let go. Then he scampered to the other side of John, putting him between Meeklos and Aeryn.  
  
John grabbed Meeklos by the throat, wrapping his fingers all the way around it. "It's not her you need to be afraid of, Gumby. It's me. Why the frell were you filming me?"  
  
"It's as she said." Meeklos knotted his long fingers together and kneaded them like bread dough. "Please, don't kill me. I am just a poor shopkeeper. When I saw you come in and realized that you were THE John Crichton, Scourge of the Uncharted Territories, and I saw how handsome you would look in my clothing, I seized the opportunity. Please forgive me, but I have two small muckels at home who need me."   
  
"Scourge of the Uncharted Territories?" said John. "Scourge? Who the hell says, scourge?"  
  
"It has a certain ring to it," said D'Argo.  
  
"Buffoon of the Uncharted Territories is more like it," said Rygel.  
  
Meeklos started to cry, big blue tears running down his face. Snot leaked from his flat, furry nose right onto John's hand. "Please don't kill me," he said, sniffling. "Please."  
  
Aeryn leaned close to John. "We have to go. I also found a couple of wanted beacons in the square. If anyone makes the connection back to this shop …"  
  
"Right." John released Meeklos, who ran behind a rack of clothing and cowered, his body shaking. John wiped the snot off his hand on his jacket sleeve and went to the dressing room, bumping his enormous hat on both sides of the door. Just as he reached for his old clothing, he heard shouting, a crash, and then pulse blasts in the store.  
  
What the frell? John stuck his head out the dressing room door. Two peace keepers crouched on either side of the front door, firing into the shop. In the back, Aeryn and D'Argo hid behind an overturned table, belts of all sorts scattered across the floor. They took turns firing at the peace keepers as Chiana, Rygel and Noranti crawled to a doorway behind them. The place reeked of used chakkan oil. John glanced around for Meeklos and his pink assistant, but they weren't in the store anywhere. In fact, they were outside, cowering behind the peace keepers. John was starting to get a very bad feeling about his whole shopping experience, one that screamed "set up."  
  
After ducking back into the dressing room, he grabbed his old t-shirt and hit the comms under the neckline. "Aeryn, what's going on?"  
  
"What does it look like?" she said. "The scourge has been discovered." John heard the stereo sound shots being fired, both over the comms and from within the shop. "We'll cover for you. Hurry up."  
  
John threw his pants, boots, and the black and red shirt he'd tried on earlier into his old t-shirt, which he twisted together into a serviceable bundle. Then he strapped on Winona. He tried tugging off his gargantuan hat but it still wouldn't move.  
  
"Okay, I'm ready," he said, grabbing Winona in one hand, clothing in the other.  
  
"Go," shouted Aeryn. Then she and D'Argo began firing furiously at the peace keepers. John scooted out from the dressing room. He kept Winona trained on the doorway, but the peace keepers were too busy trying not to get shot, so John just dashed to the back of the store and threw himself behind the table.  
  
"Aeryn, go," he said, taking up a position next to her.  
  
"No, you go."  
  
"You're pregnant."  
  
"And you've got a target on your head."  
  
D'Argo shot them both a dirty look. "As captain, I will decide how who leaves. Aeryn, you go first. Then John. Then me." He tapped his comm badge. "Chiana, make sure the pod is ready to go."  
  
"Sure thing," she said. "Be careful."  
  
Then D'Argo glanced at John's head. "Take that stupid thing off."  
  
"Believe me, I would if I could."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Go." Then he stood and fired a constant stream of pulse blasts at the doorway.  
  
Aeryn was having trouble crawling, so she sort of crab walked to the back door. John fired off a few shots from Winona, then he followed suit. When he got outside, he found Aeryn waiting for him behind a garbage bin that reeked of something rotten and sour. A moment later, D'Argo came charging toward them, his Qualta Blade cradled in his arms.  
  
The three of them took off down the alley, cutting through a service port into the back of a restaurant and then back out another door into another alley and through a meditative garden, complete with a fountain and robe-clad priests. After the garden, D'Argo led them down two more alleys, over a fence that required both of them to help Aeryn climb. Then under another fence and back into the main thoroughfare.  
  
When they finally got to the pod, Aeryn was completely winded, and they had to slow to a walk for the last ten minutes. Not that John minded – and he would've rather had his nostril hairs pulled out one by one than tell anyone -- but the straps on his sandals were cutting into his legs and feet, and they were killing him. He needed to slow down as much as she did.  
  
Chiana greeted them at the top of the stair, beckoning them to hurry. "Pilot says there's a marauder on its way. Come on."  
  
As Aeryn and D'Argo climbed the stairs, John noticed something familiar on the adjacent building, an unimaginative, 10-story affair with a slate finish and no windows. He climbed the stairs, craning his neck to see an ad splashed across the entire face of the building. Then he stopped, a sick feeling churning in his stomach.  
  
It was him, just as Aeryn had described, looking out at the world in those ridiculous getups. First the blue outfit, then the black holey thing, and finally the pants-less number he had on now. The thing was, John knew he'd been staring in the mirror in disbelief when he'd tried on the outfits, but it now looked like he was facing an audience, preening for them as he twisted left and right as if daring the crowd to find fault with his attire. The images cycled from pictures of the store to pictures of him, from far-away shots to close-ups so big John could see every pore in his face or every contour of his body, depending on where the close-up was centered.  
  
Symbols scrolled along the bottom of the ad, but John couldn't figure them out and there was no way in hell he was going to ask for help. Luckily, a voice-over boomed across the area, and thanks to his translator microbes, John could hear every word. "John Crichton, Scourge of the Uncharted Territories, shops at "Meeklos's Fine Gentlemen's Clothing."   
  
As they showed the blue outfit, D'Argo's voice boomed, "It is very attractive."  
  
When they showed a picture of the store, John heard his own voice say, "I'm sure your clothes are very popular."  
  
"He's giving us a fashion show," came Chiana's voice during the black outfit.  
  
And when the last outfit with the wicked witch hat and painful sandals appeared, Granny's said, "You look very handsome. It's the perfect outfit for a warrior."  
  
John took two steps down before a large hand grabbed his shoulder. "The pod is this way, John," said D'Argo in his best captain's voice.  
  
"I'm just going to kill him, D. I'll be back in a flash. Honest. You guys just wait right here." John turned to D'Argo, ready to fall on his knees and beg.  
  
But D'Argo just shook his head. "Aeryn would kill me. You know that don't you? Then she would kill you."  
  
John had to nod. His shoulders slumped as he mentally added another planet to their "never visit again" list. Then he tucked his bundle of clothing securely under his arm and limped up the stairs after D'Argo, hoping to God that the slight wind tugging on his gigantic hat wouldn't blow him off the steps before he could get inside.  
  
#  
  
That night, John headed back to his quarters alone. He'd tried to endure the ribbing of his crewmates with good humor, but when the entire dinner had centered around his fashion show, he'd escaped to the Farscape I for a couple of arns of tinkering and lubing -- alone. It didn't help that his forehead bore a red band all the way across from the micro-bonding of his hat, the perfect reminder of how ridiculous he'd looked and how close he'd come to getting all of them captured. At least Noranti had been able to remove the damn hat.  
  
When he got to his quarters, he found Aeryn sprawled on the bed, trying to read an Earth baby book called "The Baby Book, Everything You Need to Know About Your Baby from Birth to Two." She wore one of his old gray tees and a pair of boxers. Funny thing was, he didn't mind a bit.  
  
John pushed her legs to the side and scooted next to her. He kissed her large abdomen and lightly rested his cheek against it. "How's junior?"  
  
Aeryn shut her book and combed her cool fingers through his hair. "I think he's sleeping. How are you?"  
  
"Well, my ego's about as bruised as it can get," said John, twisting around so he could lie next to her, "but I'll survive." He tucked one arm under a pillow and wrapped the other around Aeryn's waist. "Tired?"  
  
"Mmm." Aeryn nodded, rolling her head with a grimace. When John reached up to massage her neck, Aeryn groaned in pleasure.  
  
"We're going to need to talk about some things," she said, her eyes at half-mast.  
  
"Like who wears the pants in the family?"  
  
Aeryn just raised an eyebrow as John continued to rub her neck. "Like how we stay out of trouble when the baby's born," she said.  
  
"And how we decide who stays in a fire fight and who escapes first."  
  
"And how we try to check for wanted beacons BEFORE we set foot on a planet."  
  
John nodded. "And what we do when we've thought of everything and the shit still hits the fan."  
  
Aeryn sighed, rolling over to face him. She reached up and trailed her fingers along the side of his face. Then she cupped his chin and pulled him to her for a kiss that would've left him weak in the knees if he'd been standing. "You do have very nice legs," she said, running her tongue across his lips.  
  
"I do?" John nipped her lower lip.  
  
"And nice arms and nice chest and nice shirts."   
  
"Shirts?"  
  
"Mmm." Aeryn tugged his shirt out of his pants and pushed her hands under the material. She ran her cool fingers across his stomach, over his ribs and chest and then around his shoulders only to do the same thing all over again but in reverse. As she did, she kissed his mouth and then moved down to his neck where she seemed intent to hit every spot that rolled his eyes back in his head.   
  
"By the way," said Aeryn, slowly pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor behind her, "I bought you three more of these things today, so I won't have to keep stealing yours."  
  
As John started pulling up her gray t-shirt, intent on finding her breasts beneath the material, her words registered somewhere in the back of his mind. They seemed to have some kind of significance, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. So he pulled off her shirt and threw it on the floor the same way she had, pleased to find her breasts right where he'd expected them to be. As he set to work on her left nipple, he couldn't think of a single use for clothing other than to remove it just as they were doing now.  
  
Then that thought left his head altogether as Aeryn decided that she liked his pants just as much as she liked his shirt. 


End file.
